Nicer Bitch March 6, 2013

When I was younger I had a lot of nightmares. And it wasn’t about monsters or goblins or “nice” witches luring my into a graham cracker house and eating me, or whatever it is little kids dream about. I wouldn’t know, because I dreamt about clogged toilets. SO DUMB. But seriously! I was petrified. I had this one dream that I still remember where there was a toilet on my dresser in my bedroom and I tried flushing it and the water just started pouring out. It just ran and ran and ran and flooded my bedroom and I burst into panicky tears and screamed for my parents. They couldn’t reach me though because, you know, toilet water. Anyway, it was a reoccurring theme during my childhood and I can’t imagine why really and I don’t care to think enough about it to figure it out. And to think, I wasn’t even the one who had to fix it or repair the damage it caused! So had my daughter not trudged up the stairs over the weekend in toilet water soaked socks this weekend bawling at the fact the she clogged the toilet I might have hugged her because she will, if she is anything like me, dream about this for years to come. Poor girl. And poor mommy because I about lost my mind when I realized that she didn’t *just* clog the toilet. She CLOGGED it clogged it. Had I not been covered in poop within the next 5 minutes and had black water flowing into my carpet, I might have been more sympathetic to her cause. 2 hours of snaking myself and I called a plumber. 4 hours and $400 of auguring and pulling the toilet later, he managed to fix it. UGH.

 

All this to say that I went to the doctor on Monday and the Xanax he prescribed would have been handy two days earlier. But I’m feeling much better now, kittens. ANYWAY, back to real life.

 

Do aphrodisiacs really work? Is chemically altering your brain balance by eating certain foods really a thing? Because if that’s the case, imma start wondering why the greatest minds of our times haven’t figured out that  we could solve depression and chronic anxiety with a couple of marshmallows and a cinnamon stick. Thanks a lot, big pharma. Anyway, I can’t imagine that there is much sexy about oysters and caviar and radishes. I mean, fish eggs? And vegetables? THAT’S the best we could come up with? I either don’t eat that shit, or eat it only because I have to. Also, I eat chocolate and marshmallows out of the bag when I’m feeling down and fat and pimply and it only makes me want more chocolate and marshmallows and perhaps  a glass of wine to wash it all down with before I cry myself to sleep. What about “Washing the dishes by hand”? Or “Cleaning up spilled coffee grounds.”? “Deciding where to go for dinner.”? “Learning how to cook more than just spaghetti ”? HOT DAMN YOU GUYS, I am not exaggerating when I say  nothing makes me want to take off my clothes faster than watching B pick his goddamn socks up off the floor without me asking.  Get on this, Cosmo.

 

According to a new Match.com survey, 71 percent of women don’t want to date a guy who is shorter than them. WHAT? Why? Who even cares about this shit? “Apparently 71% of woman, A.” Yeah yeah, thanks. I wear heels, for those that don’t know. I am also 5’8″ which puts me just at or over the height of most men I meet while wearing them. You wanna know what’s wrong with that? NOT A GODDAMN THING. Here’s the thing that 71% of women don’t seem to understand: I have never, in my life ever,  dated a man who either asked me or implied that I should put my heels away. Why? Because you are 6+’ GODDESS in heels that they get to parade around to their friends and they treat you like it! The best I’ve ever been treated was by a man shorter than me in heels! PS: B is shorter than me in heels. Work it out, giiiiirl.

 

WTF? 50 percent of couples are sharing passwords! Imagine this scenario: You break up with your “seemingly” normal boyfriend. Everything seems cool, but then his inner crazy comes out: He hacks into your Facebook account, steals personal photos, and generally makes your life hell. And yes, it can happen to you: A new study… found that one in 10 Americans have been cyber-threatened by an ex. Of those threats, the jilted ex followed through 60 percent of the time. 

 

First things first: it’s not “hacking your Facebook” if you give him the password, dummy. DON’T DO IT. * Embarrassing story that I’m willing to share in the hopes that you will learn something from it*: My ex husband “hacked” my Facebook and posted the most vile and crude things before deleting all my friends, pictures, and ultimately my account. I have people from my past that STILL will not give me the time of day because of some stuff he posted about me. He also hacked: all three of my email address and shut off my cell phone. Did I also mention he emptied my bank account? Passwords, kittens!

 

Why did he have all my passwords? Because he asked for them. Raise your hands if you’ve ever succumbed to the “password request”  after being berated by this argument: “If you trust me… if you don’t have anything to hide…”. Just about everyone? Thought so. You girls are just like me, I’m sure: thought it would go a long way to build trust in the relationship and GUESS WHAT. All it managed to build was a solid foundation of “Fucked Over” served with a piping hot side of “Heartbreak” and “Hot Tears” and a chilled dish of “self-loathing” for dessert.  Here’s the thing: If you feel you have reason to ask for that password then trust is already broken. OR you’re bat shit crazy. My experience was “bat shit crazy” and you can bet your third toe I’m not playing THAT silly game again. Over 2 years and B still hasn’t asked nor does he have any of my passwords, because why? Hint: he trusts me. Why does he need to check up on me if he believes I have nothing to hide? That’s how it’s done, friends.

 

6 signs you’re probably getting friend zoned: Cosmo is a chick mag, right? I know common sense is not a resume-worthy attribute anymore because so.many.people. lack it, but ladies, tell me you don’t need these fresh glossy pages to tell you when a man doesn’t want to have sex with you. For real? If you’re not getting laid and you’re single, you’re friend zoned or ugly. BUT I DIGRESS.

 

 

1. He calls you by your last name: I really don’t call anyone by their last name unless it’s a long standing nickname that I am friend-contractually obligated to call you by, or if I hate you. Also, WE AREN’T IN HIGH SCHOOL ANYMORE girl. If he calls you anything other than the first name on your birth certificate you don’t need to be taking your pants off around him, sweetheart.

 

2. Chosen communication method: text. Oh boy. If I wasn’t getting laid on the regular, I might be inclined to think this is why. OR NOT. In this digital day and age, I’m baffled as to why we even have the option to dial a phone number on these fancy ass pocket computers we call phones. Gah, if there is a way to NOT talk to someone on the phone or NOT see someone in person by all means I’m trying to do it. I HATE talking on the phone and more importantly, ESPECIALLY to someone I don’t know that well. I have a crackhead stupid sense of humor and guaranteed I will offend someone within the first 2 minutes of making their acquaintance if that first 2 minutes is spent on the phone with them. I get all red faced and sweaty and hang up and think of all the smart and intelligent sounding things I could have said that wouldn’t have to be followed by a nervous laugh and an explanation as to why it really is/was/could be/should have been funny/a joke hahaohmyfuckinggodi’msorryi’mreallynotasdumbasisoundFUCKimmahangupnow. I’m going to record my voice mail to say “Please stop calling me and send me a text or an email. I will not call you back if you leave a message.”

 

3. He’s a grouper: Perhaps I’ve been out of the dating world too long, but hot damn, group dates/get-togethers are the jam. None of that nervous hand wringing, napkin in the shirt soaking up sweat, taking rabbit bites of that salad hoping that nothing gets stuck in your teeth business. It’s an opportunity to get to know a someone that you may or may not want to spend time alone with in the future. If you do? Make plans. If you DON’T? Casually migrate to the other side of the room with someone else who’s “hanging out” and you never TEXT that dude ever again. Word of advice: that’s probably what these dudes are doing. He doesn’t know: You could be bat-shit crazy and he’s not trying to foot the bill for your psycho ass just yet. Also, boys nowadays seem like total pussies and totally incapable of carrying on a legitimate human face to face conversation so why would you want to hang in any capacity more intimate than a group setting anyway?

 

4. Your 1:1 time is nonsexual: If he’s not trying to put his penis in or near you, he doesn’t want to put his penis in or near you.

 

5. He talks about hot girls: I have had plenty of boys talk about hot girls in front of me. The problem was that 1. I was not one of said hot women being talked about and 2. I was dating those dudes at the time. This isn’t an indication that you are friend-zoned! This is an indication that your picker is broken and if you aren’t already seeing dude naked YOU DON’T WANT TO. And if you are, be done with that boy because that shit is gonna hurt your feelings eventually. I still can’t watch a movie with Jessica Alba in it. Seriously. So much butthurt, you guys.

 

6. He hasn’t made a move: I work with this sweet young girl who has yet to have her heart ripped out of her fragile chest and mercilessly stomped on and shattered by some some heartless asshole who decided not to care anymore and I LOVE IT. She is so adorable and innocent and she laments all the time about this boy that she RILLY RILLY likes but she’s so goshdarned nervous around him and she hasn’t worked up the courage to say anything but she knows, like, for 99.9% certain that he likes her to but he hasn’t said anything either and butterflies and rainbows and kittens and squeeee to that sappy shitty. Oh my word I simply can’t get enough of that innocent puppy love! So pray tell, Cosmo, does this sweet thing know with almost 100% certainty that boy likes her back even though he hasn’t made a move? Because boys are seriously dumb and they need the likes of an air traffic controller to inform them that they are ready for takeoff. These dudes have the frailest of all egos and he’s not gonna make the first move unless he knows with 122941% certainty that he’s not going to be rejected on the spot.

 

Cosmo, I hatelove you. I swear, they write articles just for me to tear apart because someone somewhere is getting paid ALL the money to write this bullshit and I’m offering the same advice here for FREE. You’re welcome.

 

Xoxo’s and Xanax’s, kittens. Love you all the MOST.

Depression hurts, and you’re not helping. February 20, 2013

 

 

You know how much I love ranting to you guys and I know this subject is dear to many people. In fact, it was one of the reasons I started this blog. I have so many thoughts and feelings rolling around inside my head that I can’t talk to with anyone because I have yet to encounter one person in my real life that I don’t pay per session that I can count on to not judge me when I’m in a slump.

 

Depression and anxiety.

 

It seems to be such a taboo subject and while I’ve never really been ashamed to say or admit that I struggle with depression, I don’t talk about it unless someone ask me a pointed question. Most of the time, it’s because people will try to banter with me, “OH MY GOSH, I totally deal with that, too! Sometimes I go home and I’m sad for no reason and I’ll eat a whole pint of Ben & Jerrys and then I feel better!” Hot damn, you guys. If  some ice cream was all it took for me to feel better on any given day, I be the happiest fatty you’ve ever met. But it doesn’t work like that, and frankly? I’m not trying to get into a presidential debate with you about how I know that you’ve never dealt with soul crushing and life changing depression (reason 1. being that you’re talking about it). But the main reason I don’t talk about it because people get SO JUDGMENTAL and fuck, I hate judgmental assholes.

 

I’m a fan of a local Mommy Facebook Page and they recently debuted an article about how 1 in 4 moms take pills for: sleeping, depression, anxiety, or stress, or all of the above. I sat back and thought, “Being a mom is hard and postpartum depression runs rampantly undiagnosed in  our society! Good for these woman getting the help they need!” Looking back, I wish that someone had had the wherewithal to pull me aside after I had my daughters and sit me down and say “Something is wrong with you, and you need help”. You mean to tell me that I could have bonded infinitely better with both my daughters had even one person stepped outside their selfish  bubble long enough to see that I was a young mother and seriously chemically hurting? The more I read, the happier my heart felt that these women, these mothers, not only know that they have issues, but are doing something about it! They want to be better parents; They want to be more productive citizens; They want to raise well adjusted kids; They’re getting the help they need and help that millions more probably need and aren’t receiving. GOOD FOR THESE WOMEN!

 

The comments began to roll in… and I’ll be honest in that I have cried a couple times today because of the hurtful, hateful, and JUDGMENTAL comments that fellows mothers made.

 

“Did you ever read the stories of woman who kill their children? Most, if not all, I have read were on an antidepressants. “Honey , the spider told me to kill the children”…true story…”

 

“I just wonder why so many people cannot deal with stress?”

 

“I never had to resort to drugs to sleep or cope with life. In order to break this cycle, I think that children need to learn coping skills from a young age. They need to experience loss and disappointment once in a while to realize that these are temporary conditions which will go away. Drugs should be an absolute last resort after all other efforts have been exhausted. Medicated is no way to go through life.”

 

“I know people that take pills that don’t have children. The world has become to depended on meds to make you live a normal everyday life. People cant cope anymore with issues.”

 

“I seriously think that 90% of the woman who do are using it as a crutch!”

 

Man. I feel all kinds of ways about this, but mostly,  I’m happy for you guys. Really, I am! I am GRATEFUL that you’ve never had to deal with depression. I’m grateful that you’ve never cried yourself to sleep at 6 pm while your children play out in the living room with their father because you can’t handle life right now and you just feel so broken and dumb and what the eff is wrong with you?! I’m happy that you’ve never been in such a daze that you only realized dinner was burning because the smoke detector went off and then cried for hours about it. I’m ecstatic that you’ve never cried yourself into hysterics in the bathtub because of reasons you can’t quite grasp or wrap your head around. I never want any of you to experience the stomach-curling torture that is being double over in a dark hallway trying to catch your breath because SOMETHING IS TERRIBLY WRONG but you don’t know what. I never want anyone to have to clutch at their chest before going to work or into a crowd or into a meeting and hoping that this feeling passes quickly because your heart feels like it’s going to burst right out of your chest wall. I hope for you that your spouse doesn’t have to look at you with anger and frustration in his eyes and say “There is NOTHING wrong with you. Now get up off the laundry room floor.” I hope that your significant other doesn’t ever roll his eyes when you say that you feel, deep down, something is terribly terribly wrong, after you spent the better part of three hours working up the courage to tell the one person that you thought was obligated to take you seriously and not judge you. I want nothing more than for you to be able to remember every movie you watch when it’s over. I don’t ever want you to look at the sky and see that it is literally grey. Ladies, I pray that you never EVER look at your children with disgust and resentment when they cry because goddammit, if they are crying who is going to hold YOU when YOU cry?

 

Which is going to be a lot, if my experience tells me anything.

 

You women need to STOP THIS RIGHT NOW. I can’t even begin to express in words my anger and upset and frustration in people JUST LIKE YOU. You are absolutely the reason that women all over the country are crying alone in their closets and drivers seats and laundry rooms because life is hard and they don’t know what’s wrong. You are the reason that so many women suffer in silence. You are the reason so many children are being robbed of loving and functional parents, because to those of you who can handle life without aid? I’m happy for you. But not everyone can and it’s people like you that make it a terrible thing. Would you look down on someone with cancer because you are able to waltz through life without having to waste your time scheduling chemo treatments? “It’s too bad your parents didn’t teach you how to deal with disappointment.” Would you snub your nose at a man in a wheelchair with a debilitating disease because you are able to walk up and down the stairs by yourself? “I don’t know why you can’t just deal with it.” Sounds absurd, doesn’t it? You don’t ever have the right to judge those of us who can’t simply because you are able to. Life is great! Life is excellent! But sometimes, some people are just so goddamn sad all the goddamn time and they don’t like their children and all they want to do is stay in bed for hours and hours at a time and they wish and hope and pray EVERY SINGLE DAY that someone, anyone, would look at them without judgment or apprehension and say, “Something is wrong with you and you need help and that is O.K.”

 

And it is OK. I swear to you, it is! And I know that it doesn’t feel like it’s OK! I know that you feel like the lousiest mother and the most horrible friend and the most inadequate wife/spouse/girlfriend/lover ever in the history of significant others! I was the stinkiest, nastiest, most broken down, and most dysfunctional woman EVER and you all are too, I KNOW. Why does it have to be us? Why do we have to feel broken? Why aren’t WE able to deal when everyone around us is? Why can’t we be normal like ALL THOSE WOMEN WITH OPINIONS who believe that our issues are clearly because our parents didn’t teach us how to cope and obviously because we just don’t know how to deal with our stress levels and certainly because we don’t exercise enough or eat right.

 

Is chemically altering your brain balance by eating certain foods really a thing? Because if that’s the case, has anyone wondered why the greatest minds of our times haven’t figured out that we could solve depression and chronic anxiety with a couple of marshmallows and a cinnamon stick? Where did you get your medical degree, ma’am? Oh, you don’t have one? You didn’t go to school for this? Then here is why you need to keep your fool mouth closed from now on:

 

People tend to believe that depression is simply feeling blue, sad, or in severe cases, suicidal. Yada yada, blah blah blah. We are all well versed in the symptoms of depression, right? But what people like to pretend they know some shit about is WHY depression occurs. Most people like to believe that depression is caused by stuff like this:

 

• Life events. Certain events, such as the death or loss of a loved one, financial problems, and high stress, can trigger depression in some people.

 

• Early childhood trauma. Traumatic events during childhood, such as abuse or loss of a parent, may cause permanent changes in the brain that make you more susceptible to depression.

 

That sounds about right, doesn’t it? Those are contributing factors and certainly the most notably judged ones. But what about this:

 

• Inherited traits. Depression is more common in people whose biological family members also have this condition. Researchers are trying to find genes that may be involved in causing depression.

 

Research is leaning towards the idea that certain genes may contribute to chronic or severe depression? Huh. Ok. What about this:

 

• Hormones. Changes in the body’s balance of hormones may be involved in causing or triggering depression. Hormone changes can result from thyroid problems, menopause or a number of other conditions.

 

Hmmm, all you Ben & Jerry binging bitches may be on to something here… but how about this:

 

• Biological differences. People with depression appear to have physical changes in their brains. The significance of these changes is still uncertain, but may eventually help pinpoint causes.

 

• Neurotransmitters. These naturally occurring brain chemicals linked to mood are thought to play a direct role in depression.

 

Depression is a brain issue. Many circumstances in life are simply contributing factors to a bought with depression; a situation that facilitates it. Now, I’m no doctor but being logical and smart I’ve deduced that perhaps depression ISN’T just something you ‘get over’. I don’t know about any of you, but I am not smarter than my biology and when you start throwing in fancy words like “neurotransmitters” and “chemicals” and “physical brain changes”, I’m likely to believe that it isn’t as cut and dry as you ‘normal’ woman make it out to be.

 

These women who can’t “deal with life”? They don’t need your judgement. They don’t need your dirty looks or your condemnation and they most certainly DO NOT NEED your high horse opinions that are spewing forth from an uneducated mouth connected to a pair of feet who have never been in their shoes. Since when did it become OK to incessantly shame people? Because really, that’s what this is! Every person, every mother, EVERY ONE who has ever felt even the slightest twinge of “I’m sad for no reason and I want to stay in bed all day” or a speck of “What is wrong with me??” or a smidge of “My exit was three miles ago and I don’t know how I got here” or a dollop of “Late for work again because I was doubled over in the hall”  is meant to feel… ashamed? Because they don’t handle their day-to-days like their neighbor can? Or their best friend can? Or the mommy down the street can? How terrible. Terrible and tragic and sad. I’m sad for every woman, every mother, every friend, and every relative that suffers alone at the risk of being judged by people just like you. 

 

Gut wrenching admission that I am willing to share in hopes that someone somewhere will learn something: After spending New Years in a drunken stupor that renders all other drunken stupors a child’s game, I took myself to the doctor under the ruse of meeting some friends for lunch. My ex husband shamed me often for feeling like something was wrong. He berated me even more often for crying for no reason. When I admitted that I knew something was wrong, he looked at me with disgust to which I have never seen in anyone since. Three months on medication and he turned around one day and said, “You’ve been much better lately. I told you nothing was wrong and that you’d get over it.” I wish that even one person had supported me through my battle before I was diagnosed in 2009. How many thousands, or hundreds of thousands, or millions of people go untreated because they aren’t supported? I was strong enough to take myself to the doctor and hid it from those I loved but not everyone is. Depression isn’t something that “goes away” or you “get over” but at the risk of being accused culpable for my brain problems, I was, and still am willing, to suffer alone.

 

What I won’t do is be silent when I see people in need. When people are being judged.  When they’ve hit rock bottom and all they need is a hand or a lifeline. Getting help for mental illness in this country is to most inane thing I’ve ever had to deal with. It is expensive and time consuming. And by expensive, I mean $100 a week for therapy with adequate insurance and $100 a month or more in prescriptions, just to make it through each day (in some cases; every person is different and person needs help differently). And if that isn’t enough, we get your clear and happy eyes peering down your professionally powdered noses at us? Please, girl, go SHUT THE FUCK UP and SIT THE FUCK DOWN somewhere else. Don’t talk if you are uneducated about the disease we are fighting and you have nothing nice or supportive or empathetic  to say.

 

What we need is empathy. We need support. We need love. And we need to be told that it’s OK. Be a lifeline, not an asshole.

New Year= Resolution time. January 31, 2013

I KNOW THIS IS LATE. Fortunately, the one thing you’re not going to find on this list “being fucking timely”. I can’t be on time to a goddamned thing ever  and I’m sure not going to try and start now. What a depressing way to start a new year: promising to do something that you know you’ll never do and have probably mostly likely totally already failed at. BUMMER.

 

I hate resolutions to be totally honest. They’re always arbitrary and benign and shit that you would like to do but will most likely never accomplish because you simply don’t have the wherewithal, the patience, the money, the time, or if you’re like me, you’re just goddamned lazy.  Working out every morning? PLEASE. Everyone knows I can barely make it to work on time let alone getting my bleary, bespectacled ass out of bed in time to breathe deep, jump in place, touch my toes, and get my tricep dips on before spending an inordinate amount of time on my makeup that never looks quite right anyway. I also will not: eat better, drink less, love more, kiss like I mean it, or any of that other fruity crap people always think is an excellent idea on the 1st and a long shot on the 2nd when little graham crack clutches have yanked a couple bobby pins out of their resolutely quaffed hair and someone threw up in the gym bag and goddammit why are there still dishes in the sink and fuck no I will not come to bed with you why don’t you use those hands to push a vacuum around every once and a while fuck the gym I need a drink.

 

If anything, I will eat more shit and drink new drinks. First up on the menu: Gin and tonics. My mom had a boyfriend once who made one for himself in a mason jar every night. Soft pants, drink, football. That was the routine.  The handful of times I helped myself to some of his drink I found them to be delightfully disgusting. Ugh. No thank you, sir! So I went to Vegas for New Years and decided if someone was going to pay $12 for a drink the least I could do was look like I was enjoying it. Let me reiterate: 123456789101112 TWELVE DOLLARS on the drink that I did not ask for with the liquid mass of a melted fucking ice cube. Exorbitant! I drank the whole thing in about two sips and then ate the garnishment hoping some of that alcohol had soaked in and I could really stretch those dozen dollar bills. That shit was motherfucking DELICIOUS. Never before have I more firmly believed in buying the expensive alcohol on the top shelf at the liquor store. I guess that’s why they call it “top shelf”. Learned something new, kittens. I got home and promptly drove myself from the airport to the liquor store to purchase a 1.7 ounce $30 bottle of Bombay Sapphire and have recreated that drink almost every night since. I kid. It’s 3 ounces. And if that makes me sound like an alcoholic, I’m OK with that. Remember: I didn’t resolve to drink less this year.

 

So I decided I needed resolutions that I could A. keep without disrupting my dazzling daytime routine of working 8-5 and sitting on my lazy ass on the weekend, pfffffffft and B. that I actually want to commit to doing. I don’t want to go to the gym 4-5 times a week! I don’t need to drop a dress size! I LOVE DRINKING. You couldn’t pay me to spend more time with my family! (If by family, you mean biological parents.) Enjoy life more? WHAT DOES THAT SHIT EVEN MEAN. Gods, you guys. You all need to set realistic expectations for yourselves. Like, promise yourself that you’ll go to the gym for 4 weeks and then whine and self loathe and blame “life” for fucking up your gym routine as you munch on a pack of mini Oreos behind your computer monitor. THAT is some shit I can get behind and I will support you 100%. So this here is my list in no particular order.

 

1. Keep believing that my ex husband is an asshole: See what I mean? Totally realistic and do-able. I don’t want to be the bashy nasty ex wife. I don’t. But to believe that he is capable of changing his mean and treacherous spots means that I’ll be prone to believing that he’s right. Right about me being a terrible mother, that my children don’t want to see me anymore, that he’s the only one of us who’s wrapped his world up in them. I will realistically (and resolutely) believe that HE believes that nonsense. Fool me once, shame on you, right? So I know that he gets laid and he gets nice and I think to myself, “self, I think this is our turning point. I think it’s going to be easy from here on out! I think he’s going to be nice from now on!” and he calls to say that the girls are terrified of my house and don’t want to keep coming over and that their teachers have spoken with them about this but they didn’t want to cause trouble by speaking with me about it and that, no. Changing the parenting plan so that I have more time with them would not be in their best interest. Do I believe that? Of course not. Does he believe that? Yes. Do I believe that he believes that? Yes, I do! Which makes him the ongoing asshole in this scenario and a view that I will gladly  resolve to maintain.

 

2. Be unapologetically  snarky, salty, and opinionated: I am already, and I will continue to be, snarky, salty, and opinionated. “Unapologetically” is the key word here. I have spent far too long apologizing for my attitude and feeling bad that people can’t handle their emotions well enough to not be offended by the shit that comes out of my mouth. What this resolution is about is really finding a balance between professionalism, respect, and sarcasm. Too many times I have thought, “Maybe I shouldn’t have said that…”. This will be the year I figure out that fine line between speaking my mind and being classy and tactful about it. And the year I stop apologizing for hurting peoples sensitive goddamn feelings. Buck up, kittens! I don’t say things to be intentionally hurtful or malicious but I will speak the truth when asked and I will not be made to feel bad for it. Not for one minute longer.

 

3. Try new things: I am terrible at losing. I am equally as terrible at trying new things for fear that I will lose. Or be bad at it. Or not like it. Or whatever other excuse I can come up with for not doing/trying something new. This year, I resolve to NOT SAY NO to an opportunity to experience something new, whether it be an invitation to hike, to have a meal with someone new, to go someplace I’ve never been; I’m taking it. Balanced, of course, with my finances and family obligations and responsibilities but I don’t want to pass up ONE MORE OCCASION to something different than I’ve done for the past 26 years. I also vow to pick something new off the menu every time I go out. I will not order my staple favorites anymore.

 

4. Do something fancy to the house: I have all these awesome ideas and half finished projects and Pintrest board after goddamned Pintrest board of things that are totally awesome and cool and helpful and organize-y and beneficial and absolutely not a gram of wherewithal to do or finish any of them. Possible options: Re-tiling the bathroom, adding pull out drawers to my pantry, insulating my bedroom addition so I can use it during the winter, paint the last wall in the girls bedroom that has been sitting a gross Pepto pale pink for the last year, even though I’ve put two coats of yellow on every other wall. God, I am the WORST at finishing shit obviously. It’s high time I do something fancy, productive, and useful around the house.

 

5. Cook more fancy foods: It’s high time I perfected my baking skills. By “perfecting” I mean plan my time in the kitchen and prepare myself to actually measure out ingredients properly so that my shit doesn’t stick to every pan ever made. It’s also high time I learned how to do more with delicious food than simply power cook 10 pounds of ground beef and poach 8 pounds of chicken every month so that my life is easier. There is a world of possibilities and endless concoctions that can be had! I have a Kindle with an internet connection and a recipe app! I’M A MEMBER OF ALLRECIPES.COM for crying out loud! I’ve also found that I feel the best when I’m cooking. My anxiety subsides. I’m able to clear my mind of all the incoherent thoughts that bounce around ad nauseum with no feasible conclusion or resolution. I’m…. happy. Content. EXHAUSTED. My feet usually hurt and I’ve probably got hablano pepper in my eyes because I’m DUMB and don’t wash my hands enough and I’ve probably sliced a few layers of skin off 9 out of my 10 phalanges and I’m sure there is grease on my favorite hoodie because I already told you guys that I am DUMB and always wear my favorite things while I’m cooking even though logic and experience has taught me otherwise and I’m sneezing because cumin is an airborne  allergenic and my adorable bespectacled face is red and my glasses are covered in a fine layer steam and splatter.  HEAVENLY.

 

6. Listen to more real music: I firmly believe that most music nowadays is not REALLY music. This is terrible of me, but I am a die hard Rihanna fan. Goddamn, I love that girl more than I’m willing to verbally admit. I don’t play her music in my car if someone is riding with me because I’m THAT girl and I start singing and dancing and rocking my car and that shit is frightening. BUT. She doesn’t write her own music. And do you think that any of those beats were created by a real instrument? No, a Macbook doesn’t count. I want to listen to more REAL music. You know, the kind of stuff I could re-create with a keyboard and a guitar with vocals that are real and not synthesized. Or whatever its called. I don’t know music lingo.

 

Like I said, REALISTIC and ACHIEVABLE. I’ve already succeeded in 4 out of 6! Go me!  If you can resolve to going to the gym at 5am every day that ends in a Y, go do it! If you’re going to eat more fruits and veggies and not ingest so much alcohol, go grab you a tub ‘a hummus and get on it! If you’re going to be nicer to strangers, get to whitening your teeth and practicing your smile! Go do you and do it well! Achieve something, kittens!

 

PS: I resolve to love you guys just as much as I ever have. BOOM. 5 out of 7. xoxo.

“Smile, honey. Upset is just not you.” January 24, 2013

Life is goddamned hard, you guys. I know, I know. There are people out there who have it worse that I do. Some people are fighting cancer. Some peoples children are sick. Some people are living on the street. Some people don’t have all their limbs. I GET IT. I don’t have cancer and my children are healthy and I’m not living on the street and I have all my limbs but that doesn’t make my existence any less challenging. Many people that have it far worse than I do but FAR WORSE IS NOT HAPPENING TO ME. Can you all get with that?  No, I’m not fighting some terminal illness. But I am looking for some place to live that is in my price range and not in the ghetto because my desire to not become a victim statistic is overwhelming. My face is a wreck. My foot is broked. I’m pissing off people that I really can’t afford to piss off. My ex husband is not getting laid anymore (APPARENTLY) because he’s decided to swiftly climb back into the role of being an enormous asshole. Among other things. Is that ok? Can I just be weak for a minute and cry?

 

A friend asked how I was doing the other day and I’m sure she regretted that statement about 20 minutes after she asked it when I was still babbling and STILL hadn’t yet taken a breathe since starting in on my plight. In response she said, “You’ve been through worse and made it. A strong person like you knows better than to let is get to you. Smile, honey. Upset is just not you.” and I was shocked to feel a couple different ways about that statement.

 

I was slightly offended. While I am a strong person, I don’t want it to  be at the expense of having people believe that I never break down because OH MY GODS I break down. I do it behind closed doors because nothing is less attractive than mascaradripssnotrunningkleenexpilesughshakycryingbreathes and nobody is trying to see that shit. The point being that even the strongest people break down AND THAT’S OK. It is! Cry and scream and yell and wail and sob and punch pillows and throw them against the windows as hard as you can and pound your feet into floor and slap the walls and lay on the floor and have yourself a true 4 year old-esque break down! Then wipe up your makeup and put your heels back on and smooth out your hair and if anyone asks why your nose is red and your eyes are puffy you tell them that you have the worst goddamned hay fever right now! and get back to business. BOOM. What is not OK is telling that person to buck the fuck because it doesn’t behoove their outward appearance to act like such a pussy.

 

After I got over being offended (because I know good and well that girl means only the best) I decided to take it as a compliment. I get to see myself break down. I see myself cry. I see when I drink too much and smoke too many cigarettes and talk to myself because I can’t figure out how to solve a problem. I know when I don’t sleep, or when I wake up in the middle of the night with my mind racing 100 miles a second with no hope that I’ll return to a peaceful slumber. I know that I have dreams about my teeth falling out and I see the circles under my eyes in the mornings. I know that the 4 cups of coffee in the morning are not force of habit but a necessity because I simply can’t function right now without it. I know when I’m falling behind at work because my personal life is too distracting and I know when it’s time to inform my boss that my work performance is slipping because of it.  I know when I take 800 mgs of ibuprofen before I burst into tears because my foot is throbbing. Everyone else sees a young 20-something girl with awesome glasses and a penchant for heels and feather earrings who won’t smile at you until she’s had her first cup of coffee and won’t talk to you until her second. She comes to work and looks busy and offers her help when it’s necessary and is more than willing to help you with any project you can’t handle on your own. If you’ve known her for any length of time, you know she’s been through some tough things in her young life and she’s come out on top in the end and she will again. Nothing has happened thus far in her life that she hasn’t been able to overcome.

 

I get that THIS, right here, is what people see. My point of view is biased because I see the turmoil that lies underneath the surface! But this is what people expect of me because I’ve set up that expectation for them. People who know expect me to be strong because that’s all I’ve ever been to them, for all outward appearances. They’ve not seen the ugly and devastated side of me. It’s a compliment because they’ve only ever seen the strong and determined side. They’ve only seen the side that’s overcome. That’s persevered. And that’s a pretty hefty adulation right there. I feel like the weakest and useless and the MOST pathetic most of the time and I constantly tell myself that I need to buck the fuck up. But I don’t. I’m already doing that. I am bucking up. I am doing what I need to do. I’m being as strong as I can and that’s as strong as I need to be. So I’m going to go cry into my coffee and oatmeal and tell people that I have motherfucking allergies and get on with my goddamned day. The world is not ending.  xoxo.

Life gets in the way January 2, 2013

Guys, I haven’t forgotten about this here blog, I promise. I have about a dozen half finished posts about the trip to CA and the wedding and how my world has been turned on it’s ass since I came back. I want to write about New Years and how it was epic and the end of a relationship and the beginning of another but I’m not sure I could figure my ass from my elbow right now. Stupid life doesn’t play fair and it never lets you know what the rules are. I’m bombarded at work and I’m learning painful lessons at home and I’m finding out more and more each day what I want out my life. I’m determined to make my dreams and my goals a reality and my head is constantly buzzing with thoughts and ideas and I have cried more in the last month than I may have in most of my whole life. I started smoking again, too, and I will climb back up onto the wagon eventually. Life is fucking hard right now, you guys, and I miss yous and loves yous and I’ll be back better than ever and before you know it. Pinky promise.

13 years later December 5, 2012

Here I am, sitting with a heating pad on my cold tootsies and a giant cup of coffee, procrastinating packing until the last possible moment when I will be shoving granny panties and mismatched socks into my bag because HOLY FUCK I’M GOING TO MISS MY FLIGHT I’M LATE. Oh, I kid. B wants to get me to the airport 4 hours early, so I’ll be throwing in mismatched shoes and heels I won’t actually wear at the last minute because he’s gonna bust through the door in a few hours and scream IF WE DON’T GO NOW YOU’RE GOING TO MISS YOUR FLIGHT.

 

Man, you guys, I’m nervous as shit and excited and fearful and frightened and outside my mind with joy and gratefulness. Some have inquired about my reunion with my sister. So here it is.

 

My sister is actually my half sister from my dads first marriage. She is exactly 5 years and one week older than me. Growing up, she lived with her mother and we had her almost every weekend for visitation. We were very much like any other pair of sisters: she was older and into more mature things, and I was younger and wanted her to play Barbies with me. We argued and bickered and were best friends. As she got older, I my parents fighting escalated quickly, and slowly,we began to see less of her. I knew my parents fought about her, but I didn’t know the full extent of the situation as they tried their hardest to keep the battles hidden behind closed doors, as any good parent would do. Eventually we saw her only one weekend a month. I later found out this was because my mom was having a hard go of dealing with my fathers ex-wife (eerily similar to the same problems I ended up having with my (now ex) husbands first wife, many many years later). In her words, my fathers ex-wife was extremely manipulative, money and greed motivated, and would do just about anything to turn N, my sister, against our father. His love for N meant that her mother was ultimately very successful in manipulating him, which was something my mother wasn’t going to stand for. His love for my mother meant he had to make a choice and consequently, we didn’t see N much anymore.

 

I’m not sure how much time elapsed between the last time I saw her and the next. One day, my parents and I took a road trip to a secluded mountain resort. I wasn’t told until we got there that N was there, and this? This was rehab. She was in high school and had gotten addicted to crystal meth and her mother had brought her up a week earlier and called my dad. I remember N running to my dad with tears streaming down her face screaming, “They won’t let me leave, they won’t let me leave!” He consoled her and  took her back into the building while my mother and I sat in the car for what seemed like ages. He came out, walking with purpose it seemed, and got in the car and drove home. We never talked about it again.

 

And we didn’t see N after that. I noticed that the arguments between my parents decreased dramatically and the strain on their relationship all but fizzled. We were happy again. I caught snippets of conversations over the years about my sister that I probably shouldn’t have, and being young and impressionable, I found myself resenting the lost years of happiness and the ultimate turmoil that my sister imposed on our family. It would seem that all our problems had something to do with her and now that she was gone, our lives were calm. She stopped by the house once, looking for dad, and all I remember was that she wore a white tank top with a black bra underneath and I was disgusted that she would dare come back to this house and try to cause upset again. Nothing came of the little meeting as dad wasn’t home when she stopped by and she never stopped by again.

 

A couple more years passed and we all but excommunicated ourselves from the rest of our family. I’ll spare the gory details but after a couple very loud and traumatic falling-outs with extended family members, my dad began looking for a new job. Partly because we were done with this life, but mostly because he had intercepted a company email regarding the selling of the print shop he worked for. He knew instinctively that once the new owner came in, they would clean house. 3 months after we left CA, the company he worked for sold and that was exactly what happened. When we left, we told only a handful of close friends where we were going and spent many contented years in CO as a small, yet happy family.

 

As I got older and my own relationship with my parents became strained, I realized that perhaps I only heard my parent’s side of the story. Perhaps I had been indoctrinated with their version of events and was lead to believe that my sister was as terrible as they made her out to be. So I told my dad I wanted to contact N. He thought for a moment while I worried about his reaction, and said that I was more than welcome to do so, but that it would take him and my mother much more time to do the same.

 

I found her on MySpace. For months, I checked her profile and would write messages then delete them. I was a silent stalker, stalking my sister. My passive aggressive side got the best of me and rather than sending her a message I sent her a friend request. The response I got back was much more than I thought it was going to be.

 

“I couldn’t even believe it when I saw your friend request! I started crying. I called my mother who was about to come over because she thought by the sound of my voice that something terrible had happened! She called Aunt J, who called cousin M, and everyone is crying and excited and oh my gosh, where have you been? We’ve been looking for you! How are you? Please, don’t go anywhere this time.”

 

And I didn’t. That was three years ago. Two years ago, we reconnected on Facebook when Myspace become “uncool”, and just under a year ago she asked me to be in her wedding. My plane leaves in 8 hours. In 12 hours, I will see her for the first time in 13 years.

I promise, this isn’t real. December 3, 2012

A real post, that is. It’s kinda an update, because YOU. GUYS. I’ve been so busy. And I’m thrilled about that! Seriously, no offense to you guys, I love you and all, but I love staying busy at work more. Makes my job (and my paycheck) worthwhile. But I’ve got this post about how much I fucking hate flying in the wings (see what I did there?) and a couple Nice Bitch posts because I have FIVE Cosmo’s sitting at my desk right now. Which I will probably read, in their entirety, while half drunk on my flight to California in TWO DAYS. Ohhhhh my god you guys. This is really happening. Me. My sister. Our reunion 13 years in the making. Her wedding. *welp*

 

So I’m bustling at work, busy with my day to day activities, not playing on Facebook or any other social media site and focusing on my homeowners problems and logging service requests. Um, NO I WAS NOT. Busy as shit and I’m still fucking around on iwastesomuchtime.com and checking my Facebook at regular intervals and trying to look busy as people walk past my open desk. As though anything exciting ever fucking shows up on my news feed anyway. Pffft.

 

Anyway, I’m really lounging with a bag of baked Ruffles, waiting to go into a meeting and I get a Facebook message. Now, my messages lately contain the most inane wedding information possible, like favor making information and what color ours nails should be, or they are blank because my coworkers (bless their gorgeous fucking hearts, really. I heart them immeasurably so) can’t email me stuff properly. In fact, I don’t even know how they email my Facebook. I open it up and it’s a message from FRIEND M (don’t remember friend M? Go back to this sour post. Go on, I’LL WAIT.)

 

If you happened to read any other post from that month, you’ll see that May was a treacherous goddamned month indeed, fraught with shitty girls and shitty friends and shitty people that made me finally say “FUCK ALL THIS SHIT” and delete them. Not a month I’m entirely proud of, mind you, as I cringe, reading back through all that drama and to you reader, I say “I’m sorry”. It was a dark time! You all know my issues with depression and anxiety. Geez, you guys. Lighten up already.

 

So this broad wants to know why I deleted her. And to be honest, I had to rack my brain to come up with even one reason why I began disliking this wanna-be valley girl. Because, like, OMG, I totally haven’t even given her, like, a second thought since I dumped her illiterate ass off the precipice of my FB friends list cliff. So I sat. And I sat. And I sat. And I thought, “gosh, this must be what real adults feel like.” Isn’t this what being a grown up is all about? Not holding grudges and rifling through your catalog cards of hurt feelings and back stabs and nonconstructive criticisms? Not remembering that time a mutual friend was in town and she didn’t tell me? Not remembering the breakfast plans made to make me feel inconsequential and unavailable! Not remembering the countless nights out uninvited! Not recalling HOW DUMB THIS WHORE SOUNDED IN FRONT OF MY BOYFRIEND the first time she met him and god! is she really that dumb? and yep. she really is as dumb as she sounds right now and no, B. i promise that when I worked with her she really wasn’t that dumb and no, i don’t know if she’s doing drugs and yes i’m embarrassed for her as well and no don’t know what happened.  Not hoping this girl who smashed your feelings into shattered stained-glass shards and retched on your feelings and write every mean note and comments with intent-hiding emoticons and <3<3<3′s (you all know a chick or two who’s like “GOD, you are so fucking dumb, you whore! :):):):);););-D:-P <3<3<3 youuuuuuuu!!! when you know she really think you are a dumb fucking whore) gets hits by a bus and lives? Man, I’ve made progress! And then my traitor brain was like “Just kidding bitch! I remember everything.”

 

And the most crucial piece of evidence to our non-friendlationship came to light when I called B and said “I deleted her 6 months ago and shes just now figuring out that we are no longer friends bwaahahahahahaslut. I almost couldn’t even respond, I was just laughing too hard. I ended up with the response “It’s been 6 months and you never noticed I was missing from your friends list. There is your answer RIGHT THERE.”

 

And of course, because I am never one to stop while I’m ahead, I added “You’re an excellent friend to those who matter most to you, but I am not one of those. AND THAT’S OK. I hold no grudges or ill-will and truthfully, I wish nothing but the best for you. We just aren’t friends.”

 

Anyway, that’s the least of my concerns right now because here’s the thing: she doesn’t like me and you know how that affects me? IT DOESN’T. In fact, nothing in my small world changes at fucking all because she doesn’t like me. For real! It’s fantastic. It’s an epiphany I’ve had this week and I couldn’t be more thrilled to sit back and think, “Oh, ______ doesn’t like me,” or “Oh man, I’ve offended someone I don’t even know by some foul mouthed comment I made on a mutual friends post,” AND NOTHING AT ALL CHANGES. They’re not messaging me (and if I did, I’d block them), they’re not calling me (and if they were, I’d ask how they got my number, and then I’d block them), they’re not knocking on my front door  (and if they were, I’d ask them how they found out where I lived, then invite them inside for a cup of tea with a side of ‘don’t move while I call the police or I’ll shoot you in the kneecap’) and they weren’t trying to be my friend anyway so that takes care of that problem. See? Nothing changes. Nothing happens. And I’m not easily offended, so they can say what they want about me on that post thread because it doesn’t mean anything to me.

 

Also, I hate to brag (no I don’t) but I may have totally gotten a new Kindle Fire HD 8.9 this weekend, because B loves the shit out of me and said it’s an early Christmas present because I was complaining that I didn’t want to take library books with me to California because what if I lose them? But if I don’t, what am I going to read? THAT MAN LOVES ME and is so thoughtful. Gosh, I could swoon just thinking about him.

 

YOU GUYS, this trip is really happening! I can’t even believe it. I must admit that I am so afraid that it will not be what I’ve made it out to be in my head. There have been a couple bumps along the way that really made me question whether or not this trip was really going to be the reunion I had hoped it would be. But I can’t help it! I tried for a long time not to get too excited so as not to get my hopes up but how can you not be excited about seeing your only sister for the first time in 13 years? I wouldn’t even be human if I wasn’t thrilled beyond belief! Sigh. I’m afraid, though. I have a tumultuous relationship at best with my father and I’m afraid that the trip will be ruined by that. I’m afraid that I won’t be able to just let our past go for one weekend. I’m afraid that my sister will get mad at me for not wanting to be around him. I’m afraid the family will set up an intervention for us. I’m afraid I’ll have to see him more than I’m comfortable with. I’m afraid that I can’t picture the wedding in my mind. It seems that the things I can’t picture are things that never come to fruition, and I’m afraid that something will happen and I won’t make it, or the wedding will be called off. I’m afraid that I’ll forget my dress, or get arrested for something stupid or get into a car accident or my plane will go down or my car will break down on the way to the airport and I won’t be able to get a taxi in time to make my flight. Basically, I’m a nervous bundle of energy and excited balled up into unexplainable and unfounded fear and anxiousness. I’m on the brink of tears constantly right now and even cried while watching Bolt with the girls over the weekend. Preceded  of course, by my daughter throwing up at the grocery store and me crying “Oh my god! I really am going to get sick before I leave on this trip!!”

 

I love you guys. I’ll be back soon. Pinky promise.